One places one thing next to
another and finds them there.

A sky hangs long overhead, and there is
something there where the eye goes.

§

If it is these things, the shape that
suggests a line that traces the

mind’s current weave settles here.
A water glass. A new glint of light
as the morning sun moves on.

§

Here there is reason applied.

Then a hum amidst bleary streetlights.

§

The light it catches the wall’s edge.

One belies the others. One quickens.

§

Here and there there are
faint edges to perceive.

(One is a continuity that
nearly reaches its frame.)

§

It’s like a line
against the sky.

Edges grey and
darker grey, blue,

black. It starts out
from the margin. Its

compass impossible
to define. It’s cold

outside. Where
the line is.